Voodoo Hoodoo
by Bob Wright
Summary: A Halloween special.  Paul Bearer is determined to make sure the Undertaker wins the title off Hulk...and isn't afraid to request Papa Shango's services to do it...
1. Chapter 1

VOODOO HOODOO

BY

BOB WRIGHT

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><p>AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a Halloween special for you the readers, which fits well with both its original release point and what I'm aiming for in the series' yearly timeline.<p>

All persons' personas and indicia are regestered trademarks of World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc. And now, on with one frightfully entertaining story (I hope)...

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><p>NOT THAT LONG AGO, IN AN ARENA NOT THAT FAR AWAY...<p>

"We're back again here with WWF Wrestling Challenge, Gorilla Monsoon here with Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, and the bells are indeed tolling as the Undertaker makes his way up the aisle slowly and methodically behind his manager Paul Bearer, in this matchup against Bill Smith," the balding Monsoon casually remarked to the viewing public as he watched the Undertaker's cold, determined march towards the ring, inside which opponent Bill Smith looked visibly worried. So, too, did half the kids along the aisle as the Deadman trudged past them, "This, of course, is the Undertaker's final tune-up match before his big encounter with World Wrestling Federation champion Hulk Hogan on the next Saturday Night's Main Event."

"And I for one know that's going to be one for the ages," Heenan proclaimed, "So mark you calendars, folks, for next Saturday, when you will see Hulkamania die a cruel and painful death at the hands of this man, the Undertaker."

"Now let's not count your chickens before they're hatched, Brain; so many times over these last few years, we've seen the Hulkster face people almost as threatening, almsot as unstoppable as the Undertaker, and each time he's managed to find a little something extra and find a way to win."

"But this is definitely different this time," Heenan insisted, "One, barring some colossal upset right now, the Undertaker will be going into the matchup with Hogan completely undefeated; none of Hogan's opponents could have said that at the time. And second, you simply can't hurt this guy; he's been put through the wringer in more ways than you can imagine and keeps bouncing back; I sincerely doubt Hogan can stop him either."

"Only time will tell, Brain. Undertaker just about finished getting his ring apparatus off, and here we go with his final preliminary match. Undertaker going straight for Bill Smith, flattens him down to the canvas with some big chops there. Now he flings Smith off the ropes-what a blow there!"

"Like I said, you can't stop this guy."

"Will YOU stop, Brain!

"Just pointing out what I'm seeing as a broadcast journalist here."

"Undertaker in complete control of this one, slamming Bill Smith down hard to the mat," Monsoon rolled his eyes at his partner's persistence in trying to annoy him, "As noted, this coming Saturday Night's Main Event should be one special event, because of course the tag team belts will be on the line as well, with champions Demolition putting them on the line against the number one contenders, the Legion of Doom."

"Looks good, but I still think it would have been better if the Powers of Pain had won at Summer Slam; they're more of champions than either of these teams."

"Why am I not surprised you'd say that, Brain; after all, I know you've been thinking of buying another tag team of your own..."

"Now that's not entirely true; my pal Freddie Blassie's more interested in the Warlord and Barbarian..."

"Look at that, what a chokeslam by the Undertaker!" Monsoon returned to the action, "Now hauling...wait, did Smith just make a surrender wave there? Bill Smith apparently having enough, but the Undertaker still bent on burying him alive. Referee didn't see it either, and so Smith now flung like a rag doll into the turnbuckle and crushed like a grape by the Deadman."

"You sure he was giving up? Looked like he was waving to his mother-in-law, if that's who the fat lady there in the front row is," Heenan pointed.

"Speaking of ladies, Brain, how was your little sojourn as one back in August?" Monsoon had to fight from bursting out in laughter.

"Don't bring that up; that was a non-story that the liberals running the presses blew way out of proportion!" Heenan protested wildly.

"Yeah, Brain, you just happened to be wandering around in a dress around a house of ill repute after hours," Monsoon did in fact burst out laughing this time.

"Shut up, shut up, you're being completely unprofessional here, Monsoon!" a clearly flustered Heenan barked at him, "Keep your mind on the match; Undertaker's going for the Tombstone already."

"Undertaker hoisting Bill Smith upside-down, waiting for the signal from Paul Bearer, and here it comes...Tombstone City!" Monsoon proclaimed as the Undertaker smashed Smith to the mat in a hard Tombstone, then casually folded his limp opponent's arms across his chest and held him down for the pin. "Easy win for the Undertaker in this one," Monsoon conceded, "The big guy appears to be ready for his title shot this coming Saturday."

"You bet he is. And now you know what time it is, Gorilla; burial time," Heenan all but cheered the sight of Bearer casually carrying a bodybag into the ring, a triumphal expression plastered on his face. The mortician quickly unrolled it in the middle of the ring, gestured for the Undertaker to roll Smith into it, then helped his man zip him up inside it. "You're next, Hulk Hogan!" Bearer laughed maniacally at the top of his lungs, stepping aside to allow the Undertaker to rush off the ropes and stomp down hard on Smith's head. He then waved the Deadman through the ropes and down the aisle. "Undertaker is ready for his shot at the gold; let's hope the Hulkster is as well," Monsoon concluded, "More WWF action coming your way next..."

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><p>"Nice job, brother," Jake Roberts was waiting right behind the curtain to commend the Undertaker on his win, "Just make sure you're harder on the Tombstone with Hogan, to make absolutely sure he doesn't get up."<p>

"My Undertaker and I are well-prepared to win the World Wrestling Federation world championship, Mr. Roberts," Bearer declared confidently.

"Yeah, well, when it comes to someone like Hogan, better to cover all the bases, and I for one would be happy to help snatch the gold from his hands if you'd need it," the Snake volunteered.

"_I...don't need...anyone's help,"_ the Undertaker bent down and hissed in Roberts's face.

"Just offering to my best friend, brother..."

"You're on, Mr. Roberts," the official at the curtain called to him, "Feels good to be back after that suspension for hanging Ricky Steamboat, huh?"

"Shut the hell up!" Roberts seized him murderously by the collar, "Do not, if you value your life, point out to me how screwed up Jack Tunney's mind is!"

"Y-Y-Yes, Mr. Roberts," the official gulped nervously and quickly scuttled away. "Well, either way, I am glad to be back," Roberts told Bearer and the Undertaker, hefting his snake's bag over his shoulder. "Excuse me now, it's Damien's feeding time."

He strode through the curtain, his theme now blaring over the arena loudspeakers. "Best friend? I'd say you're his only friend, really," Bearer mused to his man, "Well, the others are waiting for us backstage, and I think I know how to absolutely ensure victory on Saturday. Come."

He raised his urn high and led the Deadman through the bowels of the arena. In about three minutes, they burst through the doors of the locker room, where, sure enough, the other managers in the Million Dollar Corporation were waiting for them. "Good work with that pencil-neck geek, Paul," Freddie Blassie commended him with a strong handshake, "Now all we need is for the big guy here to bury Hogan alive."

_"It will be done_," the Undertaker mused coldly, "_Saturday night...Hulkamania will die...we will bury it...once and for all..." _

"Unfortunately, we've heard that before," Sensational Sherri was more skeptical, "Especially with Freddie's guys; they swear they'll get the gold, and then Hogan promptly humiliates them..."

"It's not my fault Loony Liz went dressless on us at Summer Slam, Martel!" Blassie shouted in self-defense, "And I certainly haven't seen you make any effort to win it lately either!"

"Well if I had my own guy, instead of having to hire myself out as hitwoman extraordinaire for all of your guys...!"

"Why are we fighting?" Jimmy Hart quickly cut in to stop the bickering, "I thought we all agreed we'd work together to get all the gold for Don Vincenelli, right Paul?" he asked the mortician.

"OOOOOh yes," Bearer nodded softly, "But my Undertaker is correct; this time we will win the world title. And," he fought from laughing, "I know how to weaken Hogan for the fight without ever having to lay a hand on him."

"Oh really? How, palepuss?" Sherri demanded.

"Do any of you believe in the power of...voodoo?" Bearer asked them, his voice getting lower and more ominous on the mention of voodoo. Despite his earlier appeal to the mortician, Jimmy burst out laughing. "Oh come on, Paul baby, you don't actually believe in all that nonsense?" the Mouth of the South all but ridiculed him, "I mean, I know you and the Undertaker here come from the Dark Side and all, but..."

"Oh it's true, Mr. Hart," Bearer interrupted him, "Courtesy of an old friend of mine, one who has helped keep my funeral parlor afloat during tough times through his curses on others. Perhaps you've heard of him: Papa Shango?"

"Shango? Shango?" Blassie's brow furled, "Can't say that I have, Paul. Is he good?"

"OOOOOOh yes, when it comes to high-grade voodoo curses, he's definitely the best," Bearer laughed coldly, "If you still don't believe me on that," he noticed the others' still skeptical expressions, "Once the show ends and Bobby's off, why don't we head on over and pay him a visit? He'd be more than happy to help an old friend like me, especially with a good offer of Mr. DiBiase's money..."


	2. Chapter 2

"This is his place?" Heenan glanced skeptically at the run-down shop marked MAGICS 'R US their stretched limo had pulled up in front of, "I don't think even the rats would hang out in a place like this, Paul."

"Papa Shango prefers a place where no one will bother him too often," Bearer stepped out of the limo, "Come; he is expecting us."

"OK, but let me just say, Paul, that I don't believe in voodoo myself," Ted DiBiase grumbled, waving for his bodyguard to bring a briefcase, "The only religion I prescribe to is that of the almighty dollar, because that's what's done me good."

"And besides," Blassie added, "I don't think Vincenelli would be sold on this nonsense either..."

_"Seeing...will be believing_," the Undertaker assured them all, ringing the noose doorbell to the shop. Instantly, the door creaked open. "Nice, very nice," a still unbelieving DiBiase mused, following the Deadman over the threshhold. "Mr. Shango, we're here," the Million Dollar Man called out into the dark shop. There was no answer whatsoever. "Well, guess he's not here," Heenan quickly remarked, "Might as well pack it in and..."

"Papa Shango will come in his own good time," Bearer assured him, "So we should just wait for the opportune time. Oh, you like his handiwork, Mr. Hart?" he asked Jimmy, who was looking rather green at the gills as he stared at a row of shrunken heads along the wall.

"Uh, nice, Paul, nice," the Mouth of the South said quickly, "Uh, does he deliver his victims to you like this, or does he...?"

Suddenly a wall of flames shot up along the back of the room, making everyone except Bearer and the Undertaker cry out and leap backwards. A terrible laugh pierced the air as the slightly hunched, skull-faced figure in the top hot and cloak stepped forward through the fire completely unharmed. "WHO DARES ENTER THE REALM OF PAPA SHANGO?" he roared out loud, waving around a smoking skull on a chain and a voodoo rattle.

"It's just me, your old friends Paul Bearer and the Undertaker, here on business," the mortician stepped forward, "Good to see you in such good health. These are..."

"Your business partners of sorts, yes," Shango stared the managers down intently. "I divined as such when you arrived."

"Good for you, pal; from now on, though, please don't do that flaming business; I'm an old man, and my heart can't take big shocks!" Blassie complained, clutching his chest, "In fact, could you lose the fire now, before we get the fire brigade in here? We agreed this would be a secret meeting...!"

Shango shook his rattle hard, and the flames instantly died away. "You wish my services, Bearer, for the Undertaker?" he asked the mortician.

"OOOOOOh yes," Bearer nodded with a wide grin, "As you know, my Undertaker will be facing Hulk Hogan for the world championship on Saturday. And, although he's almost certain to win, I figured a curse against Hogan couldn't hurt either."

"And if you can prove you can make this voodoo mumbo-jumbo Bearer says you can do work, we can pay you quite handsomely; Virgil," DiBiase ordered the bodyguard, who stepped forward and opened the briefcase to reveal a huge cache of dollar bills.

"Money is not a prime motivator for I," Shango told him, "However, I would certainly take your money. What proof do you need?"

"Just whatever works," the Million Dollar Man said firmly.

"Whatever works," Shango stared straight at Virgil. Realizing this, Virgil took several large steps backwards, but he was already too slow; Shango raised the skull and rattle and let out a terrifying cry. With a howl, Virgil abruptly slumped to his knees-and then shrieked as black liquid started suddenly pouring down his face out of nowhere. "My God..." Sherri was all but aghast.

"OOOOOOOOh yes, oh Scarry Sherri," Bearer nodded in triumph, "This is just a sampling of Papa Shango's powers. Hogan would be helpless in its grasp just as Virgil is."

Virgil shrieked in terror again as he tried futilely to wipe the liquid away; more, however, formed to take its place. "OK, that's good, we've got the point, you're ace, you're the best," Jimmy was looking freaked out himself, "If you'll shut it off, we'll take you to Don Vincenelli and get his clearence on this."

Shango shook the rattle hard, and immediately the liquid stopped. Breathing heavily, Virgil stumbled towards the bathroom, presumably to wash the rest of the liquid off. "Well, I'll say you've earned this then," DiBiase, looking completely unconcerned for his bodyguard's well-being, handed the voodoo master the briefcase of money, "Come on along with us, and we'll take you to the big guy himself-no, sorry, let me rephrase that, OUR big guy, not the guy in the red suit and horns..."

Shango slunk towards the door, cool and collected. "Say, Ted, I know you're always looking for a fast buck or two hundred million; what do you say, once we're done with finishing off Hogan, selling all that stuff en masse?" Heenan whsipered in DiBiase's ear as they walked out, pointed to a now clean and relieved Virgil falling in behind them, "We'd get richer selling that to stupid little kids who'd buy anything..."

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><p>"Voodoo, you say?" Don Kennedesco Vincenelli remained unconvinced, reclining back in his chair in the darkened office at his mansion, "I don't buy that..."<p>

"I didn't either, Kennedesco, but he almost hexed Virgil to death before our own eyes, and in this case, seeing is certainly believing," DiBiase insisted.

"For every last one of us," Jimmy agreed, "We should give this guy," he put an arm around Shango in the chair next to him, "Free reign to hex Hogan up."

"I don't know, boys, I don't know," Vincenelli lit up another cigarette, then rose and paced around in circles, "It's not so much the principle of the thing as the fallback; if this guy here fails to come through, I could well be the laughingstock of the entire national wrestling syndicate. I want the world title, yes, but if I have to be humiliated trying for it..."

"Well we'd be glad to show it for you right now to prove it, Don Vincenelli," Blassie offered, "Surely there's someone here in the building that's expendable enough to have voodooed."

"Very well. Patrizio," the don turned to his own bodyguard next to him in the darkness, "An extra ten percent in your next paycheck for this."

Patrizio grunted softly and stepped forward. "OK, do your thing, mister," Vincenelli told Shango. For a moment, there was silence. Then Shango let out a low roar, and before anyone realized it, Patrizio's shoes had caught fire. Shrieking, Patrizio hopped around, trying to stamp the flames out. The don clapped in the dim light of the flames. "That's pretty good, Mr. Shango," he commended the voodoo master, "Tell me, do you also do the doll thing?"

"I do," Shango told him, "But for it to work properly, I will need something of Mr. Hogan's to add to it."

"Bearer, I'm tasking you to get something of Hogan's to assist with this," Don Vincenelli ordered the mortician, "Just to be absolutely sure, I want a few trial runs on Hogan before I commit to going full-tilt on Saturday Night's Main Event."

"You won't regret this, my good man," Bearer all but cackled, shaking the don's hand hard. "Come," he told both Shango and the Undertaker, "Let us get the man what he wants-after we see if Mr. Roberts would be willing to help as he requested..."


	3. Chapter 3

"That's it, champ, you're doing it! Pump it up there; you've almost got it!" the Big Boss Man urged Hulk Hogan on, helping him bench press the barbells (set at 400 pounds even) he was clutching, "Just a little more; ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred; you got it!"

Hulk slapped the barbells back onto their holder with a deep sigh of relief. "I think I'm good," he told the former prison guard with a grin, "Thanks, Boss Man."

"Don't mention it. Now, how about a run in the ring?" the Boss Man gestured to the mock ring in the back of the main exercise area of Hulette's Wrestling Emporium.

"Might as well; against the Undertaker, every little bit of training helps," Hulk rose up. Before anything else could happen, however, the door to the exercise room swung open. "We're ready to make the announcement, Hulk," the very lovely Miss Elizabeth stuck her head in the door.

"OOOOOh, forgot all about that!" Hulk slapped a hand to his face, "Oh well, might as well hold off for now, Boss Man. Come on, let's do this."

He bounded eagerly towards the door, just as Elizabeth gave the announcement to all the members of the press that had assembled outside without his noticing during his workout, "All right, and now for the big announcement, let me turn it over to the leader of the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, the world champion, Hulk Hogan!" The reporters broke into a polite but enthusiastic applause the moment Hulk appeared in the doorway. He emphatically ripped his shirt all the way through as usual and tossed it over the Boss Man's shoulder back into the exercise room. "You never can resist doing that at every point, can you?" the Boss Man asked knowingly.

"They like it, Boss Man, so why stop?" Hulk rationalized. He led the former prison guard towards the podium, around which their other teammates were standing with several other children, some of whom were in wheelchairs or on crutches. "Thanks for coming today, dudes," he told the reporters, squinting his eyes shut against the flashbulbs blinking, "We called you all here today to announce a major initiative from all of us," he gestured at the rest of the team, "As some of you may now, the First Lady of Wrestling Elizabeth has been a major supporter of the Special Olympics. Since we're all formed together into the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, she's been asking us to do something big for the organization. Today, I would like to announce on behalf of all of us that we will be donating this check," he briefly stepped aside to allow Davey Boy Smith and Ricky Steamboat to carry a giant check towards the podium, "for five hundred thousand dollar, pooled from our own resources, to the national Special Olympics committee."

The applause was definitely louder this time. Hulk waited a few minutes before continuing, "In addition to this, we have all agreed to donate twenty-five percent of our subsequent paychecks to the cause for the next year as well, and we will be setting up a special auxilliary fund for people to donate to as well."

"Mr. Hogan, don't you think you're giving away an awful lot of money for someone on your pay scale as wrestlers?" a reporter in the front row asked, "We all appreciate that you're willing to give so freely, but..."

"I'll answer that, champ," Randy Savage pushed his way to the microphone. "Let me all tell you a little story, one you may or may not have read in the wrestling magazines lately," he began, "On the night I met this woman, the greatest woman in the world," he pulled Elizabeth close, "she told me very clearly to make my life count. That's what all of us are doing, making something of our lives. And if we do it to help those who feel the Madness but can't quite express it as well as they could have," he picked up a young girl on crutches standing next to him and hoisted her up on his shoulder, "Then I say we're making the biggest difference we can, ooooooooooh yeah!"

"In addition," it was Bret Hart's turn to squeeze up to the microphone, "We would through this like to dispel what seems to be the prevalent notion that wrestlers are brutal, uncaring roughnecks, and certainly the harsh, cold-hearted tactics employed by some of the people we face in ring like, for instance, Jake the Snake, doesn't help. But anyway, like Elizabeth, my father believed in using one's talent to better society; unfortunately, I myself forgot that for a while, but now I see clearly again that he's absolutely right. And since children seem to be our biggest fans, who better to help, we decided? And so..."

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><p>"Yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah, anything to help the damn stupid little kiddies; we know that dog and pony show by heart, Hart," Roberts glared through the window at the back of the exercise room, where the press conference could be seen but not heard, although its purpose was quite clear from even there, "It's a good thing we didn't bring DiBiase for this, or he'd blow the cover by running in and complaining about wasting money. Well, anyway, Hart, we just might fix you and Savage good after we finish with Hogan."<p>

He pulled Damien out of his bag and pressed his pet against the window. "OK Damien, this is just like last time; go in and bring out that shirt there," he pointed to Hulk's ripped shirt where it lay on the floor, "But be quick and be careful; this time we can't scare everyone out of the building, got it?"

Damien flicked his tongue in an apparent yes. "OK, go get it," Roberts carried the python to the air vent and dropped him down next to it. Damien quickly slithered into it and out of sight. Roberts glanced over his shoulder at Bearer, the Undertaker, and Shango behind him. "I still think we should have done this earlier when there wasn't anyone here," he complained, "If anyone does see Damien, there's going to be immediate panic, and we won't get another shot."

"It was the best time we could come up with, Mr. Roberts," Bearer defended the decision, "And look, your little friend's already achieving what we wanted."

Indeed, Damien was already into the exercise room, unnoticed by anyone outside. The python quickly seized the shirt in its fangs and slithered hastily back into the vent before he was seen. "Well, I still think my idea was better, but why complain when it works?" Roberts shrugged in acceptance. He squatted by the vent and clicked softly. Moments later, Damien burst through. "Good work, my man, good work; you'll get an extra serving at dinner for this," Roberts stroke the snake. He pried the shirt loose and handed it to Shango. "OK, Hogan's all yours, my man," he told the voodoo master, a sick smile starting to cross his face.

"But let's start small," Bearer advised Shango, "We don't want to pique their attention too early."

"I am in control, complete control; I know what to do," Shango ripped part of the shirt off the main piece and attached it to the wooden voodoo doll he had in his hand, "There. And now for the small test as you request."

He began slowly tickling the doll under its armpits. Inside the emporium, Hulk did in fact burst out laughing, right as Savage was giving a follow-up answer to his early point. The Macho Man broke off and raised an eyebrow at his fellow Mega Power. "Sorry, Randy," Hulk apologized quickly.

"OK, then, as I was sayin'," Savage turned back to the reporters, "There comes a time and place in ever man's life where he's got to stand up and make a difference. Just havin' the money ain't good enough. Look, for instance, at Ted DiBiase; he's got more dough than all of us can ever dream of having, and he wastes his potential by seizing up every dime that isn't nailed down and using his power to put the little people out of business. Nope, we're all better than that, and to that, I say..."

He was cut off as Hulk burst out laughing again, harder. The world champion slumped against the wall in hysterical convulsions. Frustrated, Savage clamped a hand over the microphone. "You know, you're kind of embarassing me like this, champ," he warned Hulk.

"I'm s...sorry Randy, it's...I can't..." Hulk proved unable to put together a coherent sentence. He rolled on the floor, still laughing hard and unable to stop. "Uh, well, um, sorry about this, folks, but sometimes these things just happen," Bret quickly helped the champion up, "Go on, Randy, it's all right."

He hustled Hulk out the front door. "OK, what was so funny that made you break down like that, Hulk?" he asked him crossly.

"I don't...I don't know, Bret," a still giggling Hulk wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes, "All of a sudden I felt the urge to just laugh like crazy."

"Well you know, there is a time and place for everything, and this wasn't the time and place for that," the Hitman told him firmly, "Just try and pull yourself together for Tito's music video shoot after this."

"OK, I'm OK, just give me a minute here," Hulk took deep breaths, calm starting to return, "I honestly have no idea what happened."

Around the corner, unseen by either man, Bearer nodded in satisfaction. "Looks pretty good to me, Mr. Shango," he told the voodoo master, "Just follow Hogan from now on as discreetly as you can, and slowly ramp it up. Then give him the biggest shock during Saturday Night's Main Event, to guarantee my Undertaker wins the world title."

"It shall be done, Mr. Bearer, it shall be done," Shango nodded coldly.


	4. Chapter 4

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All lyrics (as best as I can determine them to be in this case) are trademarked by their respective copyright holders.

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><p>"Mr. Hogan, everyone, so nice to see you," the slouchy man in the pressed suit greeted the group as they entered the WWF headquarters' recording studio, "I'm Simon Albertson; I'm the head recording engineer for the music video."<p>

"Pleasure to meet you, Simon," Hulk shook his hand firmly, "Where are we recording it?"

"Studio C, follow me," Albertson waved them down the hall, "We'll be bluescreening it, so you don't have to worry about doing too much except singing the lyrics. We have several cars set up for you, and models ready so this can really be about girls in cars-well, mostly; we unfortunately don't have any for you, Mr. Rousimoff," he informed Andre, "We couldn't find a car big enough to fit you and a woman together."

"It's all right, Mr. Albertson," the Giant was nonplussed.

"I don't need no model, Si; I've already got the perfect woman right here," Savage rubbed Elizabeth's hair affectionately.

"That's all right, Mr. Savage, you and Mrs. Savage will do fine together; for the rest of you, we've got you paired off," Albertson said.

"You do have the lyrics readily readible for us?" Steamboat inquired.

"There'll be teleprompters in the front of the studio; each of your specific lines will be delineated as it scrolls by."

"Sounds great, dude," Hulk noticed a more melancholy expression on Tito's face. He figured he knew what it was, but nonetheless slid back towards the Mexican superstar. "Too many memories of Strike Force's prime?" he whispered in his colleague's ear.

"Yep," Tito nodded softly, "Every time I hear the song, it takes me back to when Rick and I were flying high. I wish those days hadn't ended, even though it's clear the Rick I knew or thought I knew is dead now..."

"Martel made his own choices, Tito; if he's happy being an arrogant louse as the Model, let him have it; you still stand head and shoulders about anything he could ever be on his own," the champion assured him.

Tito cracked a small smile. They followed everyone else into Studio C, where nine covertibles of every color of the rainbow had been set up in front of a large blue cyclorama. And in front of them stood almost a dozen very attractive women, who shrieked in unison and rushed the wrestlers. "Oh, you're just as handsome in real life!" one of them gushed, all but jumping on top of Steamboat.

"Uh, well, thank you, but I am married, and..." the Dragon tried to explain.

"All right ladies, take your picks and get ready; we're about to roll," Albertson instructed them, "Everyone get set in your cars."

"Right here, Mr. Hogan," a technician directed the world champion to a red Ferrari near the front of the set of cars, "The basis is you're all driving down the Pacific Coast Highway with your women and singing about the pleasures of driving with them."

"Well, I guess that fits the concept of girls in cars," Hulk reasoned, leaping into the driver's seat. "I guess you know me," he asked the lovely blonde who had been selected to drive with him.

"I'm Tanya, Mr. Hogan," she gave him a million dollar smile, "Wow, I mean, I've never met a celebrity as famous as you before."

"Well, good to work with you, Tanya," Hulk told her, watching the staff clear out the studio in preparation for the music video shoot. "You know, I'm not really sure this fits our image, or at least my image," the Boss Man spoke up, looking a little uncomfortable with the situation behind the black convertible to Hulk's left, "And I'm sure if music videos are really the way to promote ourselves as best we can."

"It's called reaching the new generation, Ray old boy," Piper told him, waving for a stagehand still in the studio to open the door to his convertible for him, his leg still in a cast (but nearly healed by now) after taking three Earthquakes at Summer Slam. "And besides, since the last album Tunney commissioned sold out, might as well keep swinging till you strike out. Besides, I always thought this one could use a good music video when Tito and Martel were using it. Well hello, babe," he greeted the attractive brunette he'd been selected to drive with, "Unlike most everyone else here, I'm not married, so afterwards, how about you and I get it on at..."

"Attention everyone, we're just about ready," came Albertson's voice over the intercom in the control room.

"Ready, dude," Hulk flashed a thumbs-up at him and assumed a hard driving position in the car.

"Stand by," Albertson instructed them, "On in five, four, three, two, one..."

The opening blast of the song roared loudly to life over the intercom. Hulk turned the wheel naturally, trying to pretend he was cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway-which wasn't too hard given he'd done it before many a time since his career had taken off. "Stand by, Mr. Santana," Albertson cued him, "And, go."

"They pass you on the road with a smile, and you have to look twice," Tito didn't even miss a beat with the song he'd entered the ring to for almost an entire year, "And you wonder to yourself, could a woman really look that nice? Girls in cars, I love girls in cars..."

Hulk saw his name atop the next set of lyrics. He glanced as affectionately as he could manage at Tanya in the seat next to him. "They always catch your heart and pretend that they just don't care," he sang as well as he could manage, "Running wild and free, my imagination takes it from there. Girls in cars, I love girls in cars..."

"All you girls have gone a bit too far; I'm not safe behind the wheel of my car," Bret and Davey took the next verse in unison, the former looking a little uncomfortable at how close his model was leaning towards him in the seat.

"You know too well you have a serious effect on me; you're my highway fantasy," Savage pulled Elizabeth close with a warm smile.

"Just a minute, just a minute," Albertson's voice came up as the music died out, "Uh, you there, I forget your name, could you please back off Mr. Hart? You're going to be on camera at this point, and that's a little too intimate for what Mr. Tunney says he wants."

"Like he said, yes," Bret tried to push away the woman, almost completely locked around him in an intense embrace, "I know women do tend to like me-that's why I billed myself as The Hartthrob earlier in my career-but I do have a wife, and she's had several long talks with me lately about things that can happen when I'm on..."

He was cut off as the woman started kissing him hard on the lips, oblivious. "OK, give us a minute here," Albertson told the rest of the sound engineers, "I think we need to switch models..."

* * *

><p>"Can I help you, sir?" the receptionist asked Shango as he entered the studio, dressed in a trench coat and scarf covering his face.<p>

"You will kindly go to sleep," the voodoo master held up his minature skull necklace, the eyes of which started glowing and smoking. Mesmerized by it, the receptionist keeled backwards and crumpled to the floor, out cold. Shango looked over the desk and examined the logbook. "Studio C," he mused, grinning, "That's where I'm going, then."

He walked down the hall to Studio C, coming to a stop outside the door. He glanced through the window into the control room to make sure no one was watching, then into the studio itself, where the second take was underway, the music audible through the door. He drew the Hulk doll from under the trench coat. "Time to take it up a notch," he snickered, lighting a match and quickly flicking it back and forth under the doll's feet. Inside the studio, Hulk let out a loud yowl and almost leaped out of the covertible in agony. "Cut, cut," Albertson called out as the music died yet again, "Is there a problem, Mr. Hogan?"

"Uh, no, Simon, I...I just had the strange sensation my feet were on fire," Hulk confessed, rubbing at his boots, "I'm OK now, though."

"OK then, let's pick it up right where we left off," Albertson directed the engineers, "Mr. Steamboat, your line."

The music cranked up again. "At sixty miles an hour, any girl could be the star of my dreams," Steamboat belted out the next verse, "When I hit a red light..."

He abruptly stopped as Hulk let out a wail and clutched his arm. The music lurched to a stop again. "Now what, Mr. Hogan?" Albertson was starting to look frustrated from the repeated interruptions.

"My arm feels like someone's twisting it," Hulk gritted his teeth hard, "I'm all right, though; go on."

"You sure about that, Hulk?" Andre looked rather concerned, "Arm and foot pains aren't good signs, you know."

"I'll be fine, big guy, trust me," the world champion assured him.

"All right, Take Four, let's start from the top again," Albertson sighed wearily.

Out in the hall, Shango snickered darkly. "And now for the coup de grace," he murmurred, drawing a long pin from under his cloak. He positioned it over the doll, checked around to make sure no one was looking (and took note of the bathroom right nearby) and glanced through the window. Once Hulk's verse came up again, he jammed the pin hard into the middle of the doll and rushed towards the security of the bathroom. Inside the studio, Hulk stopped mid-verse and abruptly tumbled out of the car, clutching his chest. "Mr. Hogan, what's wrong?" concerned, Tanya jumped out after him, "Are you all...?"

"Move, move!" Elizabeth shoved her aside. "Oh no!" she gasped, seeing Hulk seize up, his hands clutching at his heart, "Call an ambulance now!" she cried to the control room, "I think he's having a heart attack!"

* * *

><p>Across town, inside the Gentry Recording Studio, another song session was coming to a sudden stop. "No, no, no!" Jimmy shouted wearily over his megaphone at everyone behind him in Studio 6, "I told you all in the back, don't try to overstage everyone in the front! And project too; you're getting drowned out there!"<p>

"You know, I really don't like people telling me I'm lousy at anything, Hart," Roberts warned him, extending Damien threateningly forward, "If you kick a snake long enough..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Jake, I'll get bit, we'll all get bit," the Mouth of the South interrupted, "May I remind you, I had the number four song in the country back in 1965; I know how a song should look and feel."

"Then how come it's taking us over thirty takes on this, Jimmy?" complained Greg 'the Hammer' Valentine from behind several pillars of the post-apocalyptic set that had been constructed in the studio for the shoot.

"This has to be perfect, Greg; Hogan has his song on Tunney's latest album, and Tunney's going to make sure it's the best he can get, so we're going all-out to top him," the Hammer's manager told him firmly. He often had his stable record with him on his records-indeed, his ace pupil the Honky Tonk Man-who had only narrowly missed out on entry into the Million Dollar Corporation on a few lower criteria scores-frequently cut his own albums during his spare time. And in addition to the famed Elvis impersonator and Valentine, much of the First Family of Wrestling had in fact gathered to assist the Million Dollar Corporation in shooting the music video this day as well: the Rougeau brothers in their sparking blue and gold capes; tough biker Adrian Adonis, his ever-present briefcase currently being used as a set prop; the rough and tumble Nasty Boys in their spray-painted shades and chain-encrusted leather trench coats; Dino Bravo, Canada's strongest man, along with his personal trainer Frenchy Martin (who had shown over repeated recording sessions that he couldn't sing for his life, and thus Jimmy was resigned to having the trainer from Quebec City just lip-synch); banished former mobbed-up referee "Dangerous" Danny Davis, now a full-on wrestler in his own right. And yet, with all this talent, the song had taken longer to record than he'd hoped.

"OK, starting position again," he instructed everyone, "Let's start from the top again."

"And if you screw up the tapes or audio in there again, I'll have you all fired immediately and make sure you never hold another job as long as you all live," DiBiase threatened the booth engineers, "Because I've had it with the technical screwups from you peons."

"Stand by everyone," Jimmy announced over his megaphone, "Take Thirty-Eight, and action. Bring up the music; hit the riff, Honky, and go when ready, Ted."

The music roared to life, accented by the accompanying tune on the Honky Tonk Man's guitar (designed to add more ambiance). DiBiase sided alongside the Elvis impersonator while everyone else stomped militaristically around the set, trying to look intimidating. "I've heard a lot of idle chatter..." the Million Dollar Man started the song.

"...but it really doesn't matter to me," the Honky Tonk Man gave his guitar a loud blast.

"A lot of you guys want to see me in agony," Blassie leaped forward and shook his cane menacingly at the cameras.

"But the measure of a man, understand, is more than your common patter," Heenan spun in a circle and did a faux moonwalk to his verse.

"It's the way I'll make you eat those words that matters!" Earthquake stomped down hard on the floor for emphasis, almost toppling over several flats of bombed-out buildings. Jimmy suppressed an eye roll as he slid forward for his solo. "If you only knew," he crooned as hard as he could, "What I'm gonna do to you, you'd be running out of here as fast as two feet could carry you. Your destiny belongs to me; if you only kneeeeeeeeeww!"

He stepped aside to let the camera zoom in on Adonis and Sherri for the start of the next verse. "I've got some real bad news..." the biker warned the home viewers.

"And it may involve your body," Sherri longingly rubbed Adonis's flexed biceps.

"You've been talking too much, too long, too loud, but you ain't scaring nobody!" the Nasties roared in delight.

"You see, talk is cheap, when you can't keep your promise of destruction," Roberts hissed softly, thrusting Damien forward for a closeup.

"I think you'll see, because of we..." the Rougeaus proclaimed.

"You'll need reconstruction!" the Sheik and Volkoff bellowed in unison. Both had to scramble quickly out of Flair's way as the Nature Boy came forward to croon the next refrain, "If you only knew what I'm gonna do to you, you'd be running out of here as fast as two feet could carry you, WOOOOOO! Your destiny belongs..."

The music abruptly cut off. "Sorry to interrupt in the middle of a good cut, Mr. Hart, but there's a guy calling himself P.S. on the phone in here; he says it's important," the chief technician called out.

"Oh; be right up," Jimmy jumped in the air in surprise, "Paul, big guy, I guess this means you too," he told the Undertaker and his manager at the back of the set, "Continue recording Ric's solo; we can pick up again when I'm done."

He led the two men from Death Valley out of the door and then through the other door to the recording booth, where a technician was holding the phone for him. "Yes?" he asked into it.

"Mr. Hart, it's Papa Shango," the voodoo master's voice wafted through on the other end. Jimmy waved at Bearer, who picked up another phone in the control room and listened in himself as Shango reported, "Hogan just took a trip to the emergency room for an unexpected heart attack; he's coming along better than I had hoped with this curse."

"OOOOOOOh yes, that is very good news indeed, Mr. Shango," Bearer commended their agent, "But please don't kill Hulk Hogan-not yet, at least. He has to be alive for this Saturday so we can actually take the title from him. Once we do, then you may terminate his life."

"Blast," Shango muttered disappointedly, "Well, given that I gave him a scare, do you wish me to lay low for a while?"

"Probably a good idea," Jimmy told him, "Hogan should be at the arena for the next Superstars taping on Saturday; hit him with something good there. Till then, try not to call us too much. Over and out."

He and Bearer hung up simultaneously. "We're cooking now!" he proclaimed, high-fiving the mortician, "And Hogan can't do a thing to stop us."

"_Indeed_," mused the Undertaker, "_The death of Hulkamania...is now set in stone." _

"You said it, big guy. Well, might as well get back to finishing the video," Jimmy bustled back into the studio. "Everything's good, everybody; just a little unexpected strategy session," he announced to everyone else, giving the other managers winks. "OK, start it from the top of the third verse," he instructed the control room over his megaphone, "Everyone together on this, and one, two, three..."

"Please realize...!" everyone shouted in unison as the music roared back on.

"Look in my eyes..." Roberts leaned forward, his eyes wide open and meancing.

"You'd be on your back, out flat..." Perfect and Rude declared simultaneously, each shooting the other a glare afterwards, as if they thought the other was upstaging himself.

"Hit by a Cadillac!" DiBiase bellowed arrogantly. He slid towards the center of the room next to Virgil and the wildly strumming Honky Tonk Man as everyone else slowly stomped forward for the climactic crane shot and went all-out: "If you only knew what I'm gonna do to you, you'd be running out of here as fast as two feet could carry you. Your destiny belongs to me; if you only knew what I'm gonna do..."

One by one, everyone's voices abruptly trailed off until only Volkoff's was left, now singing the Soviet National Anthem instead of the intended song. Oblivious, the Russian superstar continued belting out his country's theme for a good fifteen seconds before he realized everyone was glaring at him and stopped. "Sorry comrades, but I felt Soviet National Anthem would make good addition to song's intimidation factor," he confessed.

"Nikolai, no one cares to hear the Soviet anthem every two minutes!" the Sheik berated his frequent partner, "How I put up with you, I don't know!"

"OK, Sheik baby, no real problem; again from the top," Jimmy instructed, ignoring the loud groans from everyone else. The way their plan with Hogan was progressing, nothing could upset him at the moment...


	5. Chapter 5

THAT SATURDAY...

"WWF Superstars of Wrestling is on the air once again! Hello everyone, Vince McMahon here with Jesse 'the Body' Ventura, and of course the big, big news this past week has been the health of World Wrestling Federation Champion Hulk Hogan, who was suddenly hospitalized earlier this week with reported heart problems," McMahon laid out the news in his spiel to the home viewers.

"Well why am I not surprised? Hogan's such a bleeding heart phony, it was bound to rebound on him at some point," Ventura cracked. McMahon shot him a harsh glare. "Indeed, before we get to the action this week, we are going to have a live update on the Hulkster's situation with World Wrestling Federation president Jack Tunney, so Mr. Tunney, if you will," he called down the aisle. Tunney came walking forward, looking solemn and grim. "Thank you for taking some time out of your busy schedule to be with us today, Mr. Tunney," McMahon told him upon arrival, "Tell us then, what is the latest news that you have heard?"

"I have been in firm touch with all of Hulk Hogan's doctors this week," Tunney related, "He has apparently been hospitalized with unexpected cardiac difficulties of unknown origins. The doctors have admitted they are baffled as to the origins of these symptoms, as, to the best of their knowledge, Hulk Hogan has never had anything like them before in his life, and there is no history of heart disease in his family. Since his initial admission to the hospital earlier in the week, Hogan has made a strong recovery, and his heart has seemingly returned to near normal, so the abrupt disappearance of the symptoms is also somewhat puzzling to the doctors."

"All right then, the big question is, will Hulk Hogan be cleared to face the Undertaker tonight on Saturday Night's Main Event?" McMahon pressed.

"I have given the matter much thought over the last week, Vince, and I have come to the conclusion that, given the fact that Hogan has seemingly returned to normal, I will, as long as he checks out with WWF doctors during his pre-match physical, grant him clearance to wrestle the Undertaker tonight, on the..." he paused for a moment while the fans in the arena cheered the decision, before continuing, "...on the condition that a physician be at ringside at all times to monitor his health. The last thing we want to see is an athlete of Hogan's caliber falling dead in the ring, so if he shows any sign of a relapse during the match, the physician will be empowered to stop the match in the name of his health."

"All right then, thank you Mr. Tunney for your time and information," McMahon commended him in parting, "And we'll be back with WWF action after these words from our sponsors..."

* * *

><p>"I'm not sure this is really the best time to be coming back, Hulk," Bret advised him backstage.<p>

"I've been fine for the last week, haven't I, Hitman?" the champ argued, "It was just a one-time thing; I'm all better now."

"Just be careful, all right Hulk?" Elizabeth pleaded with him.

"Hey, I just run on out, what can go wrong?" Hulk all but laughed as Gene Okerlund's voice echoed through the arena, "Please welcome the World Wrestling Federation Champion, Hulk Hogan!" The champ rushed through the curtain to massive applause and the blaring strains of Real American. He came to a stop next to Okerlund on the interview platform and cupped his hand to his ear to soak in the applause. "All right, Hulk Hogan, you had many of us worried this week about your health and perhaps even your life, but it appears you're pretty much back to normal now," Okerlund remarked, "How in fact do you feel?"

"I've never felt better, Mean Gene," Hulk declared proudly, "I don't know exactly what went down earlier in the week, but the doctors say I'm good to go."

"So then I suppose you feel good enough to take on the Undertaker tonight at Saturday Night's Main Event?"

"I'm more than ready for anything the Deadman can throw at me," Hulk predicted, "He can talk all he wants about burying Wrestlemania alive, but the only thing that's going to get buried is the Undertaker's overhyped undefeated streak."

The arena erupted in cheers. Backstage, Andre grinned knowingly at the rest of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection. "He'll be just fine," he assured them.

"Absolutely, amigo," Tito grinned as well, "It would take a lot more than..."

"OOOOOOOne side please," came Bearer's unexpected voice from behind them. Everyone jumped in shock at the sight of the mortician striding grimly towards them, the Undertaker in tow. "What are you doing here?" Bret demanded.

"Oh, just watching our opponent make a complete fool of himself before the darkness closes in around him," Bearer smirked knowingly.

"I don't care what you think, Gomez, you ain't got no business hanging around here, and if you think for one minute you can intimidate us or Hulk...!" Piper waved his crutch meancingly at the funeral director.

"Temper, temper, Mr. Piper," Bearer laughed him off, "We don't need to intimidate anyone. The Dark Side can make its presence known in the moment you least expect it, such as," he glanced through the curtain, "In three, two, one..."

Suddenly the arena lights went out. "How did he do that?" Davey looked amazed, quickly bending down to calm a barking Mathilda.

_"You haven't seen anything yet_," the Undertaker breathed, leaning over Bearer's shoulders through the curtain, "_Watch...and see how our work is done." _

"OK, you oversized Thriller reject, what's your game for...!" Piper was cut off as suddenly flames could be seen burning in the general area of the interview platform. "Wait, what is this, there's a fire in the building!" McMahon gasped at the announcer's table, "It looks like-oh my God, it looks like Hulk Hogan's feet are on fire! Somebody get a fire extinguisher quick; Hulk Hogan's boots are on fire!"

"Why are you complaining, McMahon; you always say Hogan lights up your life," Ventura snickered.

"Jesse, that is completely out of line! It looks like, yes, fire crews are on their way, and there go the extinguishers to put out...wait what's this?" he stopped as a familiar set of ominous gongs rang out, followed by an equally familiar funeral march, "This can't mean...oh no, yes, here comes the Undertaker and Paul Bearer up the aisle; this cannot be good! What have they cooked up for the Hulkster?"

"I don't know, but I like it, so far; and listen, some guy's roaring in approval down in the front row," Ventura noticed the sound of a loud roar, followed by a rattling sound.

"Finally the lights are back on, and Hulk Hogan looks stunned but OK with some burn damage to his boots; I don't know how that started, but he'd better get up because here comes the Undertaker and...wait a minute, what's going on...WHAT"S HAPPENING HERE!" he leaped to his feet in horror, "It looks like...a dark goo of some kind is pouring down Hulk Hogan's face; Hulkster yelling in agony, what is this!"

The audience was screaming at the sight as well. Bearer reached the platform as Hulk rolled around, shrieking from the horror of the liquid's appearance. The mortician snatched the microphone off the stunned and speechless Okerlund. "Oh immortal Hulk Hogan," he mocked the champion, "You have been foolish to think you were strong enough to face my Undertaker and all the powers of the Dark Side. If you do not cede the match and the title to us by air time tonight, much worse than this shall befall you."

"Gentlemen, please, this, this isn't...!" Okerlund, looking deathly pale, tried to interject. The Undertaker paid him no heed as he took both the microphone and a small bag from his manager. _ "So shall it be, Hulk Hogan_," he told the champ coldly, taking a fistful of ashes from the bag and crumpling them over him, "_Ashes to ashes and dust to dust; rest in peace." _

He gave Hulk a contemptuous kick as his music came up again, then turned to walk away with Bearer. "Well, folks, I'm sure glad to see the backsides of those two," Okerlund confessed to the arena and home viewers, the color slowly starting to return to his face, "I'll admit they make me as nervous as I'm sure they make..."

"Wait a minute, Paul Bearer gesturing at someone in the front row, I can't quite make out what's..." McMahon abruptly stopped as Okerlund stopped as well and started shaking hard. Panic again overtook the interviewer, his eyes growing wide as dinnerplates, as more of the black liquid started pouring out from under his sleeve, coating his hand in no time flat. "WAIT A MINUTE, WHAT IS THIS NOW!" McMahon was just as horrified, "Our colleague Gene Okerlund suddenly striken by the same malady that struck the Hulkster; what is going on here! Medical crews finally pouring out to help both men as the Undertaker and Paul Bearer disappear behind the curtain; what are they pulling with this?"

"Well, all I know is that Hogan better take Paul Bearer's warning seriously and give up the title while the getting's good; if this is just the dollar ninety-eight cent version of what he and the Undertaker are capable of, I can't wait to see what the full-on version is," Ventura rubbed his hands eagerly.

"The lovely Elizabeth now running out; she's completely in tears at Hulk Hogan's condition; it looks like that liquid's flowing even harder now..."

"Say that again, McMahon," a light of sorts was coming on in Ventura's face.

"I said Elizabeth is completely in tears at the Hulkster's condition; why?"

"Oh, just wondering. Just something to think about," Ventura was definitely grinning now.

"And what is that...Macho Man on his way down now, and yes, the rest of the Hulkster's teammates; they're going to help the doctors get him some first aid."

"Sure, and while they're at it, they better shut up that mutt Mathilda; I can't stand that barking."

Indeed, Mathilda was barking up a storm-barking straight towards the front row where Bearer had pointed before the curse had struck. "What is it, girl?" Davey followed her gaze, "Do you see something...?"

With a loud growl, Mathilda took off running. Davey noticed a figure with an unnaturally pale white face rise up and glare at the oncoming bulldog before rushing off into the crowd. "Boss Man," the Brit called to the former prison guard and pointed at the stranger. Nodding, the Boss Man drew his nightstick and handcuffs and followed the British Bulldog after his pet and the figure. They were unnoticed by McMahon, who lamented, "Terrible things happening to the World Wrestling Federation Champion and our own Gene Okerlund; what's it going to take to put the Undertaker and Paul Bearer in their place...!"


	6. Chapter 6

"Hold it right there, boy!" the Boss Man roared at the top of his lungs, straining to keep pace with the agile and still running hard Papa Shango. Shango paid him no heed, pushing arena officials aside as he barrelled for the rear exit. Mathilda, though, was right on his heels, and leaped the moment the voodoo master pushed out the rear doors, sinking her teeth into his trench coat. Muttering bad words out loud, Shango kicked hard at the bulldog, but failed to make contact. Finally, he was able to break away when the bottom of the trench coat ripped off in Mathilda's teeth. He barrelled for a black car illegally parked nearby and dove through the open driver's side window. "I said freeze!" the Boss Man grabbed hold of the door handle and tried to pull it open, "You have some questions to answer, boy! Open this door!"

Shango instead floored the accelerator. The former prisoner guard held on as long as he could, but eventually was forced to let go to avoid being dragged to death. "Blast it!" he lamented, watching the car zoom out into traffic.

"It's not over yet; cab, cab!" Davey hailed down on that just happened to be passing. "Follow that car," he instructed the driver, "We'll pay extra for it. Come on, Mathilda."

"Hold the phone, hold the phone, I'm coming too!" Piper, who had been following hard despite his still slightly broken foot, limped towards the cab and slid in behind Mathilda and the Boss Man in the back seat, "I'm giving this guy a piece of my mind for pulling whatever he did in there-and then I'm going to do the same to Gomez Bearer and his life partner when we get back!"

"Hold that thought, Roddy; if this gentlemen is capable of what we saw him doing to Hulk, who knows what else he's got up his sleeve-and what's that you've got there, girl?" the British Bulldog gently pulled something out from between his pet's teeth. "Can't say I've ever seen anything like this before," he frowned at it.

"Where did you get that?" the driver, an African-American man with a clear French accent, looked terrified as he took in the object in the rearview mirror.

"That clown must have dropped it when he was fighting Mathilda off," the Boss Man realized. "So you know what it is?" he asked the driver.

"The rattle of a voodoo master," the driver gulped nervously, "Be careful with that; you don't know what it's capable of...!"

"Voodoo? Ah, give me a break," Piper scoffed, "There ain't no such thing; that's a fairy tale they tell kids to..."

The driver slammed on the brakes hard in the middle of the street. "Listen good," he glared at the three of them, "I grew up in Haiti, and I saw the voodoo rituals in action. I know the pure, evil power the voodoo masters can dispense, especially the crazed master Papa Shango, who burned my village down when the authorities tried to arrest him-in fact," he was turning white, "I think this IS Papa Shango's rattle! You must leave this cab, now!"

"But we're in hot pursuit...!" the Boss Man protested.

"Out, now!" the driver ordered, shifting the cab into park. The three wrestlers reluctantly climbed out. "Paranoid superstitious twit," Piper grumbled, watching the cab peel off at twice the legal speed limit, "I bet he's here illegally too. Well, at least we avoided cabfare."

"And we at least have a lead," Davey noticed a phone booth nearby, "Let's see if there's an address in the phone book for this Papa Shango."

"Sure, like the guy would really have his address listed if he's a big bad voodoo master," Piper retorted sarcastically.

* * *

><p>"Well, sometimes even I have to eat my words," the Scotsman conceded about a half hour later as they stood in front of Shango's shop, "But I still can't believe that..."<p>

There came an unexpected flash of flame from inside. The three men exchanged worried glances and slid along the wall next to the front window. Glancing hesitantly through the window, Shango was visible in the far back of the shop, in front of a roaring fire on the table. His eyes closed, and his glowing skull necklace held high, he was mumbling some sort of incantation, one that made the flames rise even higher-at least until the phone rang. The flames died down as Shango trudged to the cash register and started having a sharp conversation with someone. "I hope he wasn't cursing Hulk with bad luck or anything before this," Davey looked nervous.

"Well if he is, why don't we go in and bust him now before he does pull anything else, huh Officer Traylor?" Piper pressed the Boss Man.

"Need more proof, Piper," the Boss Man shook his head, "Once he leaves, maybe we can..."

"Hold on, think he's about to leave now," Davey had noticed Shango, having hung up the phone, grabbing his now ripped trench coat and top hat. Shango frowned, though, when he searched through his pockets, presumably for the rattle, and came up empty. He searched all over the shop, letting out loud curse words again, before disappearing into the back. "Now?" Piper inquired.

"Not until he's completely gone; I...here he comes, into the alley," the Boss Man gestured them around the corner into the nearest alley seconds before Shango came bustling out the front door, a new rattle in hand. "...good thing I keep spares," he was mumbling under his breath, "Especially with a check coming for that much money and..."

Mathilda suddenly started barking at the voodoo master. "No, no, Mathilda, not now!" her master pleaded with her, but Shango's attention had been piqued, and he was now staring at the alley, although the wrestlers, hidden partially behind a dumpster, were out of his immediate view. Piper quickly jammed the bulldog's mouth shut with one hand, started barking himself, and tossed a tin can nearby up the alley. The ploy, however unorthodox, worked: Shango shook his head and grumbled, "Miserable strays..." out loud before climbing into his car and driving back in the direction of the arena. "You know, you're not exactly a positive member of this team if you can't keep quiet when you need to, you know that!" Piper berated Mathilda once he was gone, "Do the words, 'city dog pound' mean anything to you, because that's where you'll be going the next time that...!"

"Easy, Roddy, easy; I think she was just trying to keep us safe, weren't you girl?" Davey snuggled his pet, "And in the meantime, I don't think he locked up his shop."

"Well then, I think we have probable cause, which allows a search without a warrant, so come on," the Boss Man waved them forward. The three of them (plus Mathilda) slipped into the shop. "Oh this is lovely," Piper seemed strangely amused by the frightful masks and shrunken heads strewn around the lobby. He pulled one of the former off the wall and started dancing around merrily in place. "I'm king of the Mummers...!" he started singing.

"Get a grip, Piper, we're here on business!" the Boss Man snapped at him. "And what have we here?" he approached the smoldering ashes on the table where Shango had been burning his fire. He gently pulled out of the ashes one piece of paper that hadn't been fully burned-a photo of Hulk. "So, you have been thinking of him, haven't you?" he mused darkly, "I'd say you're one obsessed cookie, Mr. Papa Shango."

"So why don't we call the cops on him A.S.A.P. then?" Davey proposed.

"Still need proof positive he planned an attack on Hulk; till then, it's going to be no-go; especially since no sane D.A.'s going to press charges for a voodoo assault without something ironclad; you know that perfectly well, Smith," the Boss Man shook his head.

There came a growling sound from the floor. Mathilda had gotten into a box behind the counter and was tossing voodoo dolls all over the place. "Hmm," the Boss Man picked one of them up, "I wonder if this was what he used to cause the heart attack if he really is a big bad voodoo boy?"

"There something written inside here," Davey bent down to examine the inside of the box, "Warning, do not leave unattended with personal possession of victim still attached if you do not wish he or she to suffer continuous harm," he read off the label engraved under the lid.

"So THAT'S how it works; good old warning labels DO come in handy," a grin was crossing Piper's face, "Well then, gentlemen, if this in in fact real, I have a brilliant idea to fight fire with fire with this guy..."

* * *

><p>"Voodoo?" Bret was almost incredulous on the pay phone outside of Bearer's funeral parlor, "Davey, you know I don't believe in that stuff."<p>

"I normally wouldn't either, Bret old chap, but I've seen this Papa Shango's tools of the trade, and they look quite real to me," his brother-in-law told him, "And he was definitely heading back towards the arena when we saw him last, so it stands to reason he's going to be there tonight."

"Did you find anything to explicitly tie him to Bearer and the Undertaker?"

"No; if there was anything, he must have burned it in his pre-match ritual that we saw," the British Bulldog admitted, "However, Roddy has the idea, since we found, spare voodoo dolls, to..."

"Oh no," the Hitman groaned loudly, "He's not actually considering..."

"He is," Davey confessed, "We're at the funeral parlor now."

"Tell Roddy not to break in no matter how much he's fantasized about it or how dire the situation in; we're the bad guys if we vandalize Bearer's funeral parlor," Bret told him firmly.

"Got it. Roddy, Bret says no breaking in," Davey turned and shouted towards the front of the funeral parlor, but Piper wasn't there. "Oh great," he grimaced. "Hold the phone a moment," he told Bret, noticing a kilt around the dumpster in the alley. "Roddy, we're not breaking in, Bret says absolutely not," he ran up to the Scotsman.

"I don't need to, Davey old pal; we've got just what we need in here," a triumphant Piper lifted up the dumpster lid and pulled out a worn black trench coat. "Guess Herman Munster wore this out; it'll do the job quite well."

He tore a long strip off of it. "Uh, Roddy, Bret also broached the ethical implications of what you're thinking of," Davey brought up to him, "You do realize this would probably constitute cheating if we tried to control the Undertaker through this..."

"Well not necessarily given he's been cheating first by having Papa Shango use his doll on Hulk," Piper countered, tying the trench coat piece to one of the dolls they'd picked up at Shango's shop, "And as long as Shango makes the first move tonight, anything we do will be completely justified."

"It's amazing you didn't believe in this voodoo stuff earlier in the day, and now you're a full-fledged disciple," the Boss Man was almost laughing behind the dumpster, "You'll look pretty silly if this doesn't work."

"Well, there's one way to find out; take me and my beauty back to the arena in time for the match," Piper held his creation high.

"We're going to need to anyway," Davey was glancing at his watch, "Saturday Night's Main Event started a good ten minutes ago, so let's book it if we want to get there before the world championship match starts..."


	7. Chapter 7

"What took you so long?" the Hitman all but complained to his teammates as they finally rushed through the locker room door.

"Traffic was worse than we thought, old chap," Davey admitted between deep breaths, "Hulk go on yet?"

"Nope, but he will soon; looks like the tag team match is finally over, and L.O.D.'s going to get the belts," Steamboat was glued to the TV set in the corner of the locker room, "Too bad you guys missed most of it; this was the best tag match I've seen in a good long while-and here comes the Doomsday Device to finish it."

On the screen, Hawk, leaped off the top rope and pounded Smash to the mat. He immediately jumped on him for the cover, and got the pin. The arena erupted in delight as he and Animal were presented with the belts to ring announcer Howard Finkel's proclamation, "Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of this bout, and NEEEEEEEEEEWW World Wrestling Federation tag team champions, the Legion of Doom!" "Easy to see who they were voting for there," the British Bulldog grinned at the new champions climbing up to the top ropes and proudly displaying the belts to the ecstatic crowd.

"Now, perhaps, but all through the match, I don't think the fans really knew who to root for," the Dragon told him, "Since each team has such a rabid following, I...now isn't that nice?" he smiled to see Ax and Smash walking up to Hawk and Animal and shaking their hands in congratulations, "We need more gestures of goodwill like that in the ring these days."

"Lucky for L.O.D. Ax and Smash don't work for Fuji anymore; I doubt they'd be as nice after losing with him calling the shots," the Boss Man looked around, "Where is Hulk?"

"Getting final clearence from the doctors, or at least he presumes he will be," Bret explained, "Maybe it's a good thing the tag team match went longer than everyone thought, or anything you'd do would have been for nothing."

"All right, our order of business then is to find this Papa Shango guy and keep him from doing something during the match, so Piper, Smith, come with me," the former prison guard instructed them, "He's got to be somewhere here in the building."

"And then we give him a taste of him own medicine-him and big, dark, and ugly too," Piper held up his own voodoo doll.

"Just please try not to do something you'll regret, Roddy," Bret advised him.

"We'll keep an eye on him, promise. All right, Mathilda old girl," Davey withdrew the scrap of Shango's coat from his pocket and held it in front of his pet's nose for her to sniff, "See if you can get a scent; the faster we find him, the better."

* * *

><p>"We're back again with more Saturday Night's Main Event, and Jesse, let me just say that was a tag team clash for the ages," McMahon declared coming back from commercial, "Never before have I seen two tremendous tag teams going full-on, toe to toe, and back and forth with such energy and vigor."<p>

"Well it was a good match, I'll grant that," Ventura conceded, "I'll say, though, that I still don't think either team is really the best for the role..."

"Well regardless, our congratulations to the new tag team champions the Legion of Doom. And coming up now, the world championship shall be on the line, and it is thus the moment of truth for Hulk Hogan; we just received word during this last commercial break that WWF physicians have cleared the Hulkster for action, but as noted on today's Superstars of Wrestling, one will be present at ringside to monitor his health. We tried to get an interview with the Undertaker and Paul Bearer earlier, but they refused to grant us one, so unfortunately, we will not have any final words before the match from either of them. It appears all is ready in any case, so let's send it again down to Howard Finkel."

The bell rang loudly as the ring announcer stepped into the center of the ring. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is for the World Wrestling Federation heavyweight championship, scheduled for one fall, with a time limit to the end of the TV broadcast." He paused a moment for the cheers, then continued, "First, the challenger; coming down the..." he was cut off again as the lights went out in the arena again once the gongs, and then the funeral march, started up. As at Summer Slam, columns of flames shot up on either side of the tunnel as Bearer and the Undertaker strode confidently through it. "...coming down the aisle," Finkel collected himself from the shock, "Accompanied by Paul Bearer, from Death Valley, weighing 328 pounds, the Undertaker!"

"Looks like the Undertaker's Summer Slam introduction is permanent now; I like it," Ventura declared, "It's just the perfect way to scare his opponents before he even gets into the ring, and even Hogan's not going to be immune from it."

"Hulk Hogan is not an easily scared man, Jesse, and I doubt the Undertaker really scares him, although looking at some of the youngsters there at ringside, I presume they are. Undertaker climbing into the ring; he looks good and ready for this encounter."

"He seems to be looking somewhere into the fourth or fifth row; see that, McMahon?" Ventura pointed at the area in question, where indeed the Undertaker seemed to be staring as Bearer removed his man's trench coat, tie, and hat for the match.

"Hmm, yes he does, but I don't see anything out of the ordinary there," McMahon squinted, "Anyway, our colleague Gene Okerlund, hopefully back to normal now after his scare earlier in the day, is in fact with WWF champion Hulk Hogan backstage right now; everything OK there right now, Gene?"

Backstage, Okerlund hefted his microphone. "Yes indeed, Vince; the doctors gave me a clear bill of health as well, as they have the Hulkster here. They cannot say with any certainty what the strange black fluid that befell the both of us without warning was, but neither of us have had any relapses since this afternoon. All right then, Hulk Hogan, this is perhaps the biggest challenge of your career; as you know, the Undertaker has yet to be defeated here in the World Wrestling Federation, and he has made it clear he intends to bury you alive; any trepidation at all going into this match?"

"Well you know something, Mean Gene, the Undertaker and Paul Bearer can rave all they want about burying Hulkamania, but just listen to that crowd out there," Hulk paused to let the camera crew take in the sound of the fans cheering his name, "Hulkamania will never die as long as the Hulkamaniacs all over the world keep believing in the prayers, the training, and the vitamins, and it certainly isn't going to die tonight. Undertaker," he glared straight into the camera, "Like sand through the hourglass, so go the contenders of the week, which is all you are, undefeated streak or not, and whatcha gonna do when the very much alive and well Hulkamania runs wild on you?"

He took off in a light sprint for the curtain, not bothering to look back as Okerlund concluded, "All right, Vince, no fear at all by the immortal Hulk Hogan as he heads off to face the gravest challenge of his career; back to you and Jesse for the call." The Savages were standing by the curtain. "Last chance to back out, champ, if you're not completely sure," the Macho Man suggested.

"I don't back down from challenges, Randy, you know that, Elizabeth knows that, and everyone in the arena knows that," his fellow Mega Power gestured through the curtain, "I gave them all my word I'd end the Undertaker's undefeated streak, and that's what I'm going to do."

"Just please be careful, Hulk, and don't be afraid to play it safe for your health," Elizabeth advised, a worried expression still on her face, "You can always get another shot at the Undertaker another day if..."

"It won't happen, Elizabeth; he's going down, I can feel it. Wish me luck," Hulk took a deep breath as the arena lights came back on and Real American blared to life over the loudspeakers, then charged pell-mell towards the ring to Finkel's introduction: "His opponent, from Venice Beach, California, weighing 303 pounds, here is the World Wrestling Federation champion, the immortal Hulk Hogan!" Both Savages glanced through the curtain into the ring. "I'm really, really worried about this, Randy," the First Lady of Wrestling admitted, "I really don't think he should be doing this after everything he's gone through this week."

"Well if anything happens, and he refuses to quit even if Frankenstein's beating him bloody, I'm going in and dragging him out whether he likes it or not," her husband declared, "He'll probably raise hell over it back in the locker room, but a countout at least keeps him the belt."

"I've never seen anything happen like what happened to him today," Elizabeth shivered at the recollection, "It's like something otherworldly struck him, like some kind of curse."

"You may actually be right, Liz," Bret joined them, "I didn't want to tell the two of you until I believed it enough-I hardly believe it myself-but the rest of us think Bearer might just have hired a voodoo master to hex Hulk."

"What?" her eyes went wide.

"If you're going to stand here and keep an eye on him like you were saying, keep a watch along the aisles too; he could be anywhere," the Hitman advised them, "The rest of us are going to spread out and look for him and hope we find him before he succeeds in getting the Undertaker the gold-and hope security believes the story."

* * *

><p>"Voodoo?" the arena security chief was in fact laughing right in the Boss Man's face, "Mr. Traylor, I know it's been a long day, but..."<p>

"This ain't no joke, boy; there's a big bad voodoo chief named Papa Shango somewhere in this arena, and he's about to cheat to get the Undertaker the title!" the Boss Man roared at him, "I was in his shop, I saw his stuff; I wouldn't believe it normally myself, but this is very real, so I'd scramble your men A.S.A.P. and take him in before...!"

"Sure, sure, and I guess then General Zod will come flying through the ceiling and carry Hogan off to the Phantom Zone too," the security chief was fighting to keep from cracking up even more, "You guys are a riot. You ought to get your own talk show, like..."

"What, are you always this dumb; take a look, smart guy!" Piper thrust his own doll into the guard's face, "As long as I have this piece of his coat attached, the Undertaker is completely under my control! I'll demonstrate right now if...!"

"Sure, that would be amusing, Mr. Piper, but later; I have more important business to attend to right now," the guard sauntered off before the conversation could go any further. The Boss Man kicked the nearest garbage can in frustration. "If you want anything done right...!" he muttered out loud. "Hey, any sign yet?" he called out, having noticed Davey and Mathilda in the distance around the corner.

"Nothing yet," the British Bulldog looked just as frustrated, "Come on, let's check out the upper deck, quickly."

* * *

><p>"We're ready to go here in our main event world title match," McMahon proclaimed grandly as the bell rang, "Hulkster looking determined as he rushes for the Undertaker, the two of them lock up and struggling...and Undertaker shoves him hard backwards."<p>

"Just take a look at the pure, unadulterated power of the Phenom, McMahon; he may well be the strongest opponent Hogan's ever faced."

"Undertaker stomping on the Hulkster's chest, now picks him up-big bodyslam! A cover already...no, only a one count."

"Hogan's less prepared than he led the little Hulksters to believe; just look, he's way out of shape, he's..."

"But an elbow to the chest stops the Undertaker's assault; now Hulk off the ropes, slams into the big guy hard!"

"But notice he didn't go down, McMahon; that was the hardest bump Hogan could manage, and it didn't get the job done."

Nonetheless, Hulk Hogan going for another rush off the ropes...wait a minute, he's pulling up, there's a look of very intense pain on his face, he's clutching his back; has he pulled a muscle or something?"

"Like I said, he made a huge mistake coming back before he was good and ready, and the Phenom's going to make him pay by taking away the title."

"Undertaker in fact felling the Hulkster with a hard chop. Undertaker off the ropes himself and down hard on the champ's back! Hauls him up, flings him into the turnbuckle, and a big splash-and now a blatant chokehold; come on ref, break this up!"

"Hey he's got to the count of five to break it, and if you'll notice, he is releasing in time."

"Undertaker lifting the Hulkster up-oh no, drops him back-first on the top turnbuckle! Hogan crumpling to the mat, looking quite pained-and now look at this, Paul Bearer coming over and choking him out himself; come on ref!"

"Rest in peace, Hulk Hogan!" the funeral director roared in the champion's face, then let out a maniacal laugh as he causally walked away before the referee turned away, his urn held high. "The Hulkster in a whole heap of trouble now as he's whipped into the ropes and-wait a minute, he grabbed the ropes to stop the assault. Undertaker charging towards him...and Hulk flings him over the top rope out of the ring!" McMahon roared in delight, as did the entire arena, "Hulk Hogan now with the momentum, climbing up to the top rope; aerial tactics coming your way, he's..."

But before Hulk could jump on top of his opponent, he let out another pained yell as his leg inexplicably gave out from under him, causing him to topple straight to the mat. "What is going on here?" McMahon was aghast, "Hulk Hogan seemingly in his prime coming into the ring now suffering from strange bursts of pain at inopportune times..."

"Like I said, McMahon, he was in no shape to participate in this match, and now he's paying the price; he should have just surrendered the title to the Undertaker when he had the chance."

"Undertaker now coming up, hoisting the champ over his shoulders-now what's he doing, he's climbing up on the timekeeper's table...oh no, he's not going to...please, no, don't let him Tombstone him there, not...!"

But the Undertaker did in fact Tombstone Hulk onto the timekeeper's table so hard that it cracked clean in two from the force of the impact. "Look at the power of the Phenom!" Ventura was incredibly impressed, "I have never seen Hogan manhandled like this."

"And the Hulkster yelling in agony again, clutching his feet, which I'm sure you recall if you tuned in this afternoon inexplicably caught fire earlier on; he is in a mountain of pain and a mountain of trouble right now...!"

* * *

><p>"No sign of him here either!" the Boss Man yelled from the stairs by the upper deck, "I guess he's down in the front row."<p>

"Well, we're almost out of time; Bearer's giving the sign for the Tombstone," Davey looked nervous at the Undertaker dragging their teammate back into the ring to finish him off. "All right, Roddy, I guess it's time to see what you've got!" he called to the Scotsman a few rows back.

"AAAAAAAll right," Piper yelled in delight. He quickly pulled out his own Undertaker voodoo doll. "All right, big guy, let's see you how you like a taste of your own medicine!" he laughed, and then started pounding the doll's head off of the nearby railing. Down in the ring, the Undertaker dropped Hulk to the mat just as he was about to deliver the final, fatal Tombstone, wandered over to the turnbuckle, and started banging his own head off it. "What is he doing!" it was Ventura's turn to be aghast, "Why is he dropping Hogan to do whatever he's doing here! You have the title, you moron, go back and finish him! And shut up, McMahon, it's not funny at all!"

"I think..." McMahon was laughing hard at the Undertaker's unexpected actions, "...I think this is very amusing, Jesse. Undertaker inexplicably doing...whatever he's doing here; Paul Bearer screaming at his man to go back and finish the Tombstone, and the Undertaker finally stopping that bizarre head-banging ritual and heading back over to the champion..."

In the upper deck, Piper let out a whoop of delight. "OOOOOOh yeah!" he bellowed happily, "Now let's REALLY have some fun here!"

And as the Undertaker was reaching down to pick Hulk up for the Tombstone again, he suddenly snapped straight up and, to roars of both shock and delight, started punching himself in an area not usually seen being punched on television. "NOW WHAT'S HE DOING!" Ventura was livid, "This is making no sense whatsoever; what is this supposed to do! Stop it and Tombstone him now, damn it!"

"Undertaker causing himself harm for some strange reason..." McMahon was completely cracking up at the sight (which admittedly was causing many parents in attendance to cover their children's faces), "I'm not sure what's..." he nearly slid out of his chair in laughter, "...what's going on here-but whatever it is, he's wasted too much time; the Hulkster in fact now getting up!"

"Come on Roddy!" Davey snatched the doll away from him in the upper deck, "There's kids watching this!"

"I couldn't help it!" Piper protested. When the British Bulldog raised an eyebrow at him, he conceded, "All right, I'll keep it family friendly." Seeing the Undertaker about to swing a blow at the rising Hulk, he spun the doll around in his palms, and in the ring the Deadman, whirled wildly about in a circle to more laughter from the crowd. Hulk waited until his foe was facing him before unloading a tremdendous punch that send the Undertaker sprawling over the ropes and out of the ring. Energized, Hulk grabbed the ropes and shook them hard, a familiar wild expression coming back into his face. "Go get him, my man; we've got your back!" Piper urged him on.

There came a loud growl from Mathilda, who climbed halfway up the railing and started barking down into the fifth row by ringside. "What, you've got him, girl?" her master squinted hard toward his pet's point of view. "Come on, I think we've got him," he told Piper, "Don't let up, though, till we've got him good and stopped."


	8. Chapter 8

"...this match is quickly spiralling out of control; Undertaker now inexplicably high-stepping around the ring in some kind of crazy dance, ignoring Paul Bearer's yells at him to get back to work and finish the Hulkster off," McMahon tried as best he could to keep up with the action, "Hogan meanwhile rolling on the match, clutching his legs in pain even though they didn't seem to be injured at any point in the match."

"The referee's completely lost control of this one, McMahon; they need to get another guy in here right away and get..."

"Look at this; Undertaker abruptly dives face-first to the mat!" McMahon roared, "Hulk Hogan crawling over, and there's the cover; this'll do it...!"

"No it won't," Ventura snickered as the Undertaker kicked out at the last possible moment.

"Undertaker back up on his feet, kicks the Hulkster hard; the champion still looking quite pained. Undertaker lifts him up by the throat; looks like a chokeslam is...no, Undertaker drops him and starts pirouetting around the ring like a ballerina; what is going on here?"

"I don't know, and I wish it would stop; he could have put Hogan away at least four times in this match, and instead he wants to goof off!" Ventura was steamed, "Look at Paul Bearer; he doesn't get ticked easily, but he's smoking mad at his man now; he's ordering him to stop and cover Hogan A.S.A.P.!"

"Well if he wants to win the title, he'd better hurry, Jesse; the timekeeper indicating there's just five minutes left before the end of our broadcast and thus the match itself..."

Coming out the tunnel to the ground floor aisle, Piper took note of Bearer screaming at the Undertaker. "OK Gomez, you want to mouth off to your creation, why don't we fix it so he makes you pay," he had to fight to suppress laughter, "Mathilda, have some fun."

He pressed the doll to the bulldog's lips. In the ring, the Undertaker, to hysterical roars from the crowd, pulled his manager close and kissed Bearer passionately on the lips. Then, once Mathilda started pawing around with the doll, flung the mortician to the ground and leaped on top of him. "And look at THIS, he's HUMPING him!" a disgusted Ventura roared over the shocked shrieks and hysterical laughter of the crowd, "I cannot believe I'm seeing this; he's actually HUMPING Bearer right in the middle of the ring! He's gone completely mental!"

"Undertaker apparently taking..." McMahon was laughing hysterically himself, "...taking utter and complete leave of his senses; just about three minutes to go now..."

"Roddy!" Davey snatched the doll away from Mathilda, "I told you to keep it family friendly!"

"I can't help it; after all the things he's done to the people he's buried, he deserves to...!" Piper started to protest.

"Hey, there he is!" the Boss Man skidded up behind them and pointed down the aisle, "I'd recognize him anywhere!"

Indeed, Papa Shango was still wearing his trench coat from earlier several rows down-and in his left hand, the long pin was visible, poised over the Hulk doll cushioned in his right. The former prison guard charged down the aisle as fast as he could. "Freeze, punk, it's...!" he started to bellow.

"YOU freeze!" Shango threatened, holding the pin dangerously close to the doll, "One more step-from any of you," he warned Davey and Piper as they skidded up alongside him, "and your friend departs the land of the living thanks to a colossal heart attack!"

"Yeah, sure, whatever, pal, now will you shut up so I can watch the match?" snapped the man sitting next to him.

"YOU shut up!" Shango waved his rattle at the man, who started to retort back at him, but stopped in horror when he realized his voice had vanished. This, though, gave the Boss Man a chance to seize the pin and yank it away from the voodoo master. "It's over, boy," he seized Shango by the wrist, "Now come along quietly and...!"

Shango rose up and roared loudly, holding his skull necklace and rattle aloft and oblivious to everyone behind him shouting at him to sit down. In the ring, Hulk crumpled to the mat again as the black liquid started flowing down his face again to shrieks from the audience. "That's enough, Houdini!" Piper drew a cigarette lighter and held it to the Undertaker doll, "Shut it all off, or the Demon of Death Valley's going to find some hot stuff tonight!"

"Do as you will, but if you do," Shango drew a pair of scissors before anyone could move to stop him and positioned them around his doll's head, "Your Hulk loses his head on live television!"

"Easy Roddy," Davey quickly took hold of the Scotsman's wrist. "You don't have to do this," he tried to reason with Shango, "I don't know what the Million Dollar Corporation promised you, assuming they are behind this, but we can offer at least double..."

"You are too late anyway," Shango laughed, pointing to the ring, where a revived Undertaker was trying to pull Hulk up for another Tombstone attempt, and only the fact that Hulk was holding onto the ropes for dear life was saving him from the finisher, "And because you are, I'm going to behead him anyway...!"

Suddenly, Mathilda rushed forward and bit Shango on the leg. Howling, Shango started to shake his rattle at the dog, but all three wrestlers jumped him before he could and scrambled to disarm him. The four of them rolled around on the floor for about a minute, ignoring the shouts of the fans all around them to stop it because it was ruining the match for them-before blows from Piper's crutch and the Boss Man's nightstick to Shango's scalp finally subdued him. The former prison guard drew his handcuffs and slapped them on the voodoo master's wrists. "And all I have to say now, boy, is...!" he started to roar.

"Oh no!" Davey gasped, staring with a pale expression at the Hulk doll on the floor-with its head cut off. "It...it must havebeen accidentally snipped off in the brawl," the British Bulldog gulped weakly, "Hulk...!"

"I STILL win," a groggy Shango laughed cruelly. Gulping nervously, all three wrestlers hesitantly leaned up over the seats...

...but to their immense delight, Hulk was all right, with his head still firmly on his shoulders, now grasping the apron to avoid the Tombstone. "What?" Shango was stunned, "But how...!"

There came a growl at his feet. Mathilda was holding the piece of Hulk's shirt in her teeth. "Ah, Mathilda, you little genius," a relieved Davey rubbed her sides in delight, "You pulled it off before he snipped the head off, didn't you?"

"We, on the other hand, still have a functioning one, powderface," Piper held up his own Undertaker doll mockingly in Shango's face.

"You're too late," Shango pointed to the ring, where the Undertaker had finally pulled Hulk into position for the Tombstone. He let out an audible growl and jerked upwards for the head slam...

...but the bell rang before he could deliver the final Tombstone. "That's it, time's up, the match is over!" McMahon proclaimed, "Which means..."

He momentarily paused as Finkel entered the ring, microphone in hand. "Ladies and gentlemen," the ring announcer proclaimed to the crowd, "The time limit for this match has been reached; therefore, it is ruled a draw...and also therefore, STIIIIIIIIIILLL World Wrestling Federation Champion, the Immortal Hulk Hogan!"

The arena erupted in cheers, and Real American blared triumphantly to life again over the loudspeakers. "That can't be how they end it!" Ventura protested vehemently, "The Undertaker won this fair and square; he landed the most blows; he was the one still standing at the end; he didn't have black goo running down his face...!"

"You know the rules, Jesse; the title can only change hands on a pinfall or submission; the Undertaker achieved neither during the allotted time for the match, and so Hulk Hogan is rightfully still the champion-but look at this, Undertaker Tombstoning him anyway; what a sore loser that man is!" McMahon was outraged as an enraged Undertaker then yanked Hulk up and gave him a second Tombstone to harsh booing, "The match is over; there is no reason for this whatsoever!"

"Well I can't blame him McMahon; he was robbed out of the title, no question about it."

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" Piper dropped down and started smashing his doll's face off the floor; in seconds, the Undertaker was doing the same inside the ring. "Hey, get that for me, doll," he instructed Mathilda, gesturing at Shango's skull necklace, "I have a pretty good idea brewing..."

"You wouldn't...!" for once, Shango looked terrified.

"As our pal Randy would say, OOOOOOOOH YEEEEEAAAAHHH!" the Scotsman yelled in his face, taking the necklace from Mathilda and hooking over the top of the former Hulk doll, "Time to pay the Piper with a taste of your own medicine, pal! Davey, you handle Frankenstein from here on."

He handed the Undertaker doll to the British Bulldog, then took hold of the new Shango doll and started kicking the feet on it around. Unable to do anything while handcuffed, Shango was soon doing an impromptu tango in the aisle. "Stop, stop it, you don't know what you're doing!" the voodoo master protested.

"We know enough, boy!" the Boss Man roared in his face, "And by the way, you're under arrest too, for assault and battery with a deadly weapon!"

"Hang on, hang on, maneuver him over this way!" Piper instructed the Bulldog jovially, for Davey had set the Undertaker to kicking Bearer in the rear end right out of the ring and down the stairs. A gleeful expression on his face, the Scotsman maneuvered Shango straight up to the funeral director. "I can't control myself; they have...!" Shango tried to protest to him employer seconds before Piper had him kick Bearer hard in the repoductive organ. Bearer shrieked like a peanut whistle in pain and crumpled to his knees. "Scratch one lunatic!" Piper laughed gleefully at the sight of an agonized Bearer crawling up the aisle. "Now for a waltz with the big guy," he declared, directing Shango into the ring. And moments later, Ventura's mouth was hanging wide open. "All right, this is the last straw!" he bellowed at the sight of the two men waltzing in the ring like a couple at a dance, "I used to respect the Undertaker, but now, this is going way too far! He is completely embarassing himself dancing with whoever this guy is; if I didn't know any better, I'd say he's been put under a spell of some kind by Hogan; there should be an investigation...!"

"Oh come on, Jesse, you don't honestly believe and something as silly as magic, do you...WHOOOA, now look what they're doing!" McMahon exclaimed at the sight of the Undertaker and Shango uncontrollably kicking each other hard in their own reproductive organs over and over again now, "We here at the World Wrestling Federation would like to apologize to all you parents out there watching this; we have no control over the Undertaker's actions and sincerely hope he has not traumatized your children through anything he did during the course of this match. But anyway, Hulk Hogan has retained the title, and look, here in fact comes the lovely Elizabeth and the Macho Man up the aisle; Elizabeth really looking relieved that the Hulkster is OK..."

"Do tell," the smirk returned to Ventura's face.

"And what's wrong with that, Jesse?" McMahon raised an eyebrow, "After all, she is Hulk Hogan's manager in the context of the Mega Powers as well; it's only right that she be concerned for his well-being."

"But interesting nonetheless," the Body's smirk remained. McMahon shook his head. "The Hulkster receiving congratulations from the First Lady of Wrestling and his fellow Mega Power-and now the Hitman as well," he noticed Bret jogging into the ring to shake the champion's hand, "Well, anyway, this was a most unusual match to say the least, but regardless, we are glad that you tuned in to join us once more, so again on behalf of Jesse Ventura and the World Wrestling Federation, this is Vince McMahon, saying good night for Saturday Night's Main Event!"

* * *

><p>"It's amazing how much stamina those two have," Heenan remarked to the other managers backstage at the dressing room TV at the sight of the Undertaker and Shango still kicking away at each other as the credits rolled, "I think this proves His Undeadness is truly impervious to pain."<p>

"But unfortunately, another plan down the drain!" Jimmy grumbled miserably, "I knew Paul had a stupid idea with this whole voodoo nonsense!"

"So why didn't you say anything when we had the chance!" Sherri ripped into him, "Now I've been embarassed as much as he has for being connected to the whole debacle, and this was probably the last time Hogan puts the belt up until after the Survivor Series, if not for the rest of the year!"

"Well the one thing it does prove, you can't rely on magic mumbo-jumbo to take the place of human intelligence," Blassie reasoned, "And we'll come up with something yet, trust me..."

"Or Vincenelli will behead us and mount us on his den wall," the former Macho Queen lamented.

"Have faith, Martel," the Classy One chastised her, "After all, the title doesn't have to be on the line for us to humiliate Hogan and his ship of fools. Nothing says we can't run them through the wringer at Survivor Series..."

THE END

AND TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
